


Through magic we burn (though it lights our way)

by Casimir



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental dimension hopping, Developing Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, M/M, Wizards as related to fey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casimir/pseuds/Casimir
Summary: While battling Death Eaters, Harry and Draco’s wands cross spells accidentally. At the same time, in another place, in another world, Simon and Baz get up to something stupid.With the boys being dropped into another dimension unceremoniously, they have to figure out how they’re going to get home- and if they even want to.Meanwhile Harry and Draco realize their rivalry has the potential to go in a way neither of them had planned, especially with how similar Baz and Simon are to them.





	Through magic we burn (though it lights our way)

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been sitting on this one for a while and I really like what I’ve done with it but now I need to figure out where it’s going haha.
> 
> Anyway it doesn’t hurt to put this out there and see if anyone else likes this idea as much as I do.

It happened in a blaze of light, magic, smoke and fire. Like someone had bottled a dragon's breath and set it loose. It happened when Harry and Draco, in the middle of defending themselves from a pair of escaped Death Eaters, crossed the blistering beams of their spells accidentally.  It felt like the world slowed down; that it was just the two of them, the burning white-blue light from their wands, and the ball of pure energy that was forming a crater in front of them. All four wizards were thrown backwards when the spell broke and the world caught up with itself. They landed in a bruised heap, and Harry and Draco were the first to pull themselves to their feet. Magical ropes shot from the ends of their wands and twisted themselves around the semi-conscious Death Eaters (Draco's ended in a neat bow. Harry's was more like he'd knotted it an extra couple of times just to be sure).

 

Then, wands still drawn and ready, they approached the steadily reducing magical orb. It fizzled away into silvery sparks and left behind two teenage boys. Both seemed to be unconscious, one had a curly mop of dark gold hair and the other fine strands of silky black.

 

“You take the boys to Mungo’s and I'll take the idiots in?" asked Harry, lifting the gently squirming wizards with a flick of his wand.

 

Draco didn't say anything, but nodded. He cast a few detection spells around the two boys before sliding down into the crater and placing his hands on either of their shoulders. He disapparated with a crack before Harry did the same thing with the others. 

 

Later, after the Death Eater duo were placed in cells to await their trial and sentencing, Draco found his partner laid out on the settee in their shared office, attempting to write up his report for the day. He cast a baleful look at the other man as Draco dumped his bright red auror’s robes over the back. Harry's were in a lump on the floor and he had his ratty trainers on the armrest. 

 

“I have a feeling this report is going to last much longer than we intended.” Draco said, sitting down at his desk and grabbing a folder from the In box. “Mungo’s has the boys in a magically induced sleep for now- they're both weakened. The one with the blond hair has a pair of bleeding dragon wings, and a tail to match.”

 

Harry laughed. The quill in his hand dropped a splotch of ink on the parchment, but he vanished that with a wiggle of his fingers. “And the other one?" 

 

The look on Draco's face turned dark. He flicked his wand in the direction of the door to their office and it locked audibly, and then the slightly muffled feeling of a silence charm descended. 

 

“He woke up, just for a second, after I apparated to St. Mungo’s. Pulled himself over the other boy and hissed at me before he passed out again." 

 

“Hissed at you? What the fuck, Malfoy?" 

 

Draco, who was writing everything down as he said it, glared at his partner. “That's what I said. Hissed. He had fangs, Potter. He's a vampire." 

 

“What would a pair of useless idiots like Hayden and Morple want with a vampire and a kid who ran arse backwards into a transfiguration spell?" 

 

“I'm not even sure it was them. They appeared when our spells crossed." Draco dipped his quill into the pot next to him, then turned his glare to that instead. “Potter, would you get me some more ink?" 

 

His- friend? Coworker? Ex-rival? Draco wasn't really sure where they stood anymore, but there was much less mutual hatred and destruction- twirled his off-hand, and the inkwell refilled itself. If there was one thing that Draco Malfoy was jealous of, it was how absurdly powerful Harry was getting. Although, subtlety was a lost art in him. He could blow a magically barricaded door down with a thought, but couldn't pick a lock to save his life. 

 

“That's enough, thanks." He called, when the pot hit the brim. “St. Mungo’s will send us an owl when they're awake and stable enough for us to interview them." 

 

\---

 

Three days later, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch awoke to a mousy looking older woman hovering around him with her wand out anxiously. She was wearing bright, lime green scrubs and had blonde hair streaked with gray. He squinted at the bright tip of her wand and, when he raised his hand to bat it away from where it was floating near his face, found that his limbs were heavy with weakness and disuse. The room was dark, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows, and pale, inoffensive blue walls. It smelt sterile, like soap and water, like a hospital.

 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Said the witch, finally lowering the wand away from his eyes. “Careful now. You probably feel a bit weak and woozy.”

 

She helped him get into a sitting position against the pillows and headrest of the bed, then passed him a glass of water from the bedside table. He drank quickly, only then realizing how sore his throat felt, and would have finished it in one gulp had the nurse not told him to slow down. She refilled the glass with her wand twice more before he was satisfied.

 

“Simon?” Baz forced out, feeling the need to cough and splutter at just the one word. “Where am I?”

 

“The boy you were brought in with, with the wings and the tail?”

 

Baz nodded.

 

“He’s in the next room over, I imagine he’ll be coming round pretty shortly too. You two are at Saint Mungo’s Hospital, for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I just have a few questions before I can let you rest though. I have to make sure you’re all still there!”

 

He gave her a weak grin before nodding again. His throat was still scratchy and ached, but they had to get them out of the way.

 

“We’ll start with the easy ones. What’s your name, and how old are you?”

 

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Twenty.”

 

She wrote down his answer on a clipboard that floated over from somewhere across the room. “Very good, alright, what year is it?”

 

“Two thousand and seventeen.”

 

Had Baz been anyone else he may have missed the moment her eyes flickered up to meet his, or not heard her small, sharp breath, or not seen the hesitation in her pen. However, Baz was not most people. He frowned. Just a little.

 

“And who is the current Minister of Magic? I don’t blame you if you get this one wrong, they’ve changed very quickly the last couple of years!” Her chuckle was extremely, obviously forced. The nurse kept her eyes focused on the clipboard, as if it was very fascinating indeed.

 

Baz, on the other hand, frowned deeper than before. What in Crowley’s name was a Minister of Magic? “I don’t know that one.” He said, choosing to play it safe rather than admit the whole truth.

 

“Fair enough.” Said the witch. She scribbled another note. “And one last one, although this one is rather personal it is very important. How long have you been a vampire, Mr Pitch?”

 

It had been a long time, Baz mused, somewhere between one beat of his heart and the next, that someone had so effectively made him freeze up in fear. He was pretty sure that, had he fed recently, all of the colour would have drained from his face in that very moment. Instead, he pulled his mouth tightly together and gave the nurse a wide stare.

 

“It’s quite alright.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’re sworn to secrecy in order to protect patient confidentiality. No one will know that shouldn’t.”

 

Baz took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. “As long as I can remember, really. Bitten as a child.” His voice sounds strained to his own ears.

 

“I see.” She nodded to herself. “Who’s your donor?”

 

Baz tipped his head to the side in confusion. He knew he wasn't exactly up to date with regular vampire goings on but…

 

“I don't drink from people. Just animals.”

 

The nurse fixed him with an icy stare and scribbled furiously on her notes. “Mr Pitch, I realize that it's difficult for people to come to terms with their condition, but vampire physiology is designed to digest human blood. Most people come here- their family members or lovers donate blood- and go about their lives. There are blood replenishing potions and spells that means there is no risk to anyone involved. I'm going to bring you your lunch and one of our spare donations and we'll see how you feel after that.”

 

Then, she left Baz alone with his thoughts.. The door clicked shut quietly behind her. It took effort, more than usual, but he willed his hands to stop shaking. Instead, he fisted them in the bed sheets around his hips and pulled them tight enough almost to rip. Simon was alright, though, Baz reminded himself. Alive, safe.

 

\---

 

It wasn’t the first time either of them had been at Saint Mungo’s. Harry and Draco stood in the reception, bright red auror robes standing out in a sea of lime green, and waited patiently for their escort to the boy’s rooms. They’d been kept separated, out of precaution, but they were both apparently growing increasingly agitated the longer they were apart. Harry could sympathise. Next to him, Draco had started pacing back and forth anxiously.

 

“Pacing isn’t going to make them hurry up, Malfoy. You’re just making yourself dizzy.”

 

Draco snarled at him, turned on his heel once more, and picked up the pace.

 

“Relax, you great ponce. Here she comes now.” Harry tilted his head in the direction of the stairs, where a mediwitch was hurrying in their direction. There were two manilla folders in her hands, clutched tightly to her chest.

 

Immediately, Draco halted his pacing and stood solidly at attention. Harry slid off the chairs he’d been taking up and set down the copy of the Daily Prophet that he hadn’t been reading. The three of them took an elevator, straight to the floor the boy’s were on, and the mediwitch handed them the folders. Vitals, the strange answers to their questions.

 

“So, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Simon Snow.” Harry said, grinning at his partner. “I think you can handle the posh sounding one, yeah?”

 

“Ah yes, put me with the vampire. Your cunning plan to finally see me dead is coming to fruition.”

 

Already halfway down the corridor, Harry waved his own folder through the air. “Don’t be a git, Malfoy.”

 

\---

 

There was a knock on the door to Simon’s hospital room and slowly, a man with unruly black hair wearing scarlet robes stuck his head through. He grinned brilliantly at him, then stepped through.

 

“Simon Snow, right?” He stuck his hand out and Simon shook it. “I’m Harry Potter, the auror assigned to your case. My partner, Draco Malfoy, and I found you.”

 

Briefly Simon glanced at the jagged, lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry’s face. The man tensed for a second, but forced himself to relax, and set a manilla folder on the bed next to Simon. The scar, Simon realized, was probably the first thing people saw when they met Harry Potter.

 

“Let's get the really awkward stuff out of the way first, right?” He flipped through a couple of the folder’s pages. “Have you ever heard of a time turner, Simon?”

 

Harry’s -surprisingly bright- green eyes fixed on Simon intently. He squirmed a little under the strength of it, but shook his head.

 

“No. It's a magic artifact?”

 

“Yeah, it is. Sends the user back in time based on the turns of an hourglass. Very dangerous, very illegal.”

 

Simon just shrugs. “I've never seen- or used- anything like that. The only magical things I've had we're my wand and sword…”

 

He trailed off a little, remembering the tools that the Mage had given him. Harry, on the other hand, was leaning forward with barely restrained excitement.

 

“A sword? What did it look like?”

 

Simon explains about the sword passed down from the Mage, how he summoned it as if he was drawing it. The time Baz stopped him from beheading a dragon with it. Harry’s head rested on his hand and, some time between the story about the chimera and the girl whose voice was stolen, he had begun to frown heavily. They were getting off track, but Simon was so heavily engrossed in telling this strange man about his adventures at Walton that he’d hardly noticed.

 

“I had something similar.” Harry told him, when Simon paused for breath. “The sword of Gryffindor. Mine came to me when I had to slay a basilisk that was trying to kill Muggle-borns at Hogwarts.”

 

Blinking dumbly, Simon tilted his head to the side. “You’re saying words but none of them mean anything.”

 

Harry chuckled and pulled a biro from the inner pocket of his robes. “I have a theory. Let’s compare some notes. You said it was twenty seventeen, right?”

 

Simon nodded, clearly confused.

 

“It’s not, at least it isn’t  _ here _ . It’s two-thousand and four.”

 

“ _ What?”  _ Simon asked, weakly, feeling like the air had been punched from his lungs. His eyes were wide with shock and fear and awe. He leant forward in the cot almost far enough to tip out of it. “But that means- the Humdrum, it hasn't happened yet- we have to-!”

 

“Slow down, easy.” Gently, Harry placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders and sat him back down. “Start from the beginning. Tell me about Watford.”

 

“What do you mean, tell you about Watford?! It's England’s magic school,  _ the  _ magic school.”

 

“There isn't a Watford. Not  _ here. _ ” It was the second time he'd stressed the word like that, and, despite wanting to shout and stomp until Harry explained himself, Simon reigned his anger back in. At least there was no burning smell. “The biggest magical school in Britain is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There are a couple of private schools sure, but I think if you were from  _ here  _ you'd have heard of it.”

 

“What the fuck do you mean,  _ here?”  _ Simon all but snarled.

 

Harry shoved the folder towards him, where he'd written a series of facts descending from two underlined dates. 2004 and 2017. Below them were things like  _ Voldemort _ , next to  _ Humdrum (?) _ ,  _ Hogwarts _ next to  _ Watford (?) _ . Facts and dates, and things that Simon had experienced that he’d told Harry about in the last few minutes.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of any of these things, have you?”

 

He gestured to the 2004 side, and Simon skimmed it. “The battle of Hogwarts? No. What’s Diagon Alley?”

 

“I didn’t think so. Simon- this is going to be really weird, but I think whatever happened pulled you and your friend into a different universe.”

 

“What.”


End file.
